To the Stars
by SpookyMormonHellDream
Summary: Modern One-Shot, E/C. Prompt from Tumblr user fyotpprompts: "Imagine your OTP, sneaking away from Thanksgiving dinner, to go outside. Where they eat pie and kiss under the stars." My very first one-shot, a little (and belated) gift for the holiday.


To the Stars

Thanksgiving, 2016 - New York City

Christine Daae

I'm not one for holiday gatherings - not since Dad died, and certainly not since I moved to New York City from upstate and started working at the Metropolitan Opera House. God knows I hardly have enough time to myself anymore as it is, and on the whole I find the holiday season to be far too depressing to warrant celebrations or social outings. More often than not - from November on until January - I find myself on my own, having given up the tedium of sympathetic invitations from friends to their own families' celebrations. I know their hearts are always in the right place, and I truly am grateful to be regarded so kindly. But to me, even the gesture of a spoken invitation usually screams of pity for my part, and after enduring too many obscure relatives and friends-of-friends prying for personal details of the reason behind my solitary presence - guaranteed to be met with sorrowful eyes and painted sympathetic expressions at the sad, sad tale of losing my father just after graduating high school - I essentially said to Hell with the whole ordeal altogether. I much prefer my solitude. In the handful of years that have passed since making that decision, I've opted to spend Thanksgiving through New Year's Day more or less on my own, observing the holidays respectfully but never quite being able to bring myself to actively participate.

But Raoul wouldn't hear of it this year.

He's a good friend to me - he really is. But sometimes his best intentions come at the price of forfeiting my quiet habits and timid approach to the world, and this year's Thanksgiving proved to be one such occasion. We had been extremely close in high school in spite of being polar opposites regarding temperament, personal interests, and - much to his family's dismay - social standing. Yet regardless of our starkly apparent differences, I was heartbroken when we lost touch during our early college years. But this past summer - just months after I joined the chorus at the grandiose theatre through which I am now employed for the season - a chance meeting brought us together again, and we've been on good terms since. We've become close once again, and he's so terribly sweet, even brotherly in his approach. Knowing of my perpetual loneliness throughout the holiday season, he invited me some weeks ago to join his family for Thanksgiving dinner - and although I was initially hesitant to accept, it truly was a kind offer, born of his characteristic generosity and dedication to his friends. Besides, by the time he asked, I no longer had the energy to deline. In the end, I could not bring myself to turn him down in favor of yet another year of solitude - not when he extended his invitation with such sincerity.

But at his words I had decided to seize an opportunity, and I quickly made an amendment, one in the form of requesting an additional guest of my own choosing. I'm sure it's terrible etiquette - certainly regarding the powerful and affluent family into which Raoul was born - but I am generally not one to care much for social decorum. Shy as I may be offstage, I am equally stubborn in my need to rebel against propriety regarding class inequality - and our social standing is most definitely unequal, at least where his family is concerned. And so I requested to bring a friend along to Raoul's parent's house for that dinner, and he accepted graciously with very little persuasion needed.

He had not yet been formally acquainted with the man I planned to bring along - if that man was willing to accept my invitation, at least. A part of me doubted that he would, and my heart sank a little at the reasons behind his potential rejection. But I held out hope for a miracle nonetheless. Erik is stubborn beyond reason and selectively social - to put it politely - and to make matters worse we'd had a terrible falling out recently; yet I knew that I could not simply allow the relationship we had been steadily building come to an abrupt end simply because I was not brave enough to approach him sooner, to force him to hear me out. It was entirely my fault, I'm ashamed to say, and I hoped to make amends somehow.

I met Erik Blanchard - a young French expatriate musician turned Yankee - shortly after I began my contract with the Met. Or rather, he surprised me backstage in between rehearsals, approaching me nervously just to compliment me on my voice and work ethic. I would later come to learn that he rarely - if ever - socialized with the company or principle actors. He more or less spent his time with the orchestra, and even that time was limited at best. He is not necessarily shy, by any means, but he values his privacy and fiercely guards it with each and every social interaction into which he is obliged to immerse himself in order to earn a living. Otherwise, he much prefers to maintain his distance. And so it was a monumental surprise to me that he chose to approach me that day - more so than the fact that he had chosen to compliment a chorus girl to begin with. He really is not an ordinary man, and over time I found myself infatuated with him, immediately enamoured by the connection we shared in our passion for music. As time went on, I began to realize that I had developed feelings for him - I was grateful for our friendship, but at the same time I could very clearly see us forging a more romantic relationship. I knew that he could see it, too - affection for me shone very clearly in his eyes as time went on. But for us to actually come together was another story entirely - at the outset, it was certain that we would face obstacles unmet by other couples.

Erik is deformed on the right side of his face - and whether that is by birth or by some accident that occurred in his life, I cannot say. He adamantly refused to give me any details when I broached the subject of why he chose to wear a mask in this day and age, and had not relented since our argument - the first of only a few in the entirety of our friendship, each of them focused on some aspect of his visage. But beyond that flaw, he is otherwise conventionally attractive - far taller than me with bright eyes and a devastatingly beautiful voice. Had he chosen to sing instead of composing, I had no doubt that he would have garnered fame worldwide on the merit of his voice alone. And if he wasn't so frustratingly introverted, I was sure that every woman in the theatre would be as taken with him as I am. He's been contracted to compose instrumental pieces to showcase at our theatre for years, yet I'm one of the few in the company with which he regularly interacts. Very few others know him beyond his name and professional reputation.

But as time went on, as we both began to realize a mutual yet unspoken attraction to one another and his defenses slowly came down, I broke that trust between us. With one reckless and unthinking action, I effectively severed the ties of our friendship outside of the theatre and tore away any potential we might have had at becoming more. Childishly curious to see what he hid beneath the mask and determined to convince him in turn that hiding away was bordering on the melodramatic - that I would most assuredly accept anything I might have seen - I took his shield from the world away from his face without his consent. And worse, I actually cried out at what I saw. Beneath the white material, his flesh was so distorted and deteriorated that I had absently wondered if he was actually in pain. It was terrible to behold - surely no man could look so afflicted without some sort of ill effects present with each waking hour. But I did not have the chance to compose myself at the sight, did not think to even ask him if he was hurting or if he needed help. His anger was immediate and barely restrained, the betrayal in his eyes so apparent that it brought tears to my own - tears that he mistook for my continued fear. I did not have the chance to question him or apologize before he stormed out of the deserted auditorium in which we had been spending an otherwise pleasant afternoon together.

That was the end for us.

Remembering that terrible day, I was nearly shaking when I dialed his phone number with the intention of inviting him as my guest to Raoul's family's event. The idea to ask him was inspired by the thought of extending an olive branch of sorts, my last hope at repairing our tentative bonds and all the while knowing that I had so wanted more for us - I wanted to know if we could grow to be more than friends. We had been civil with one another in the weeks that separated us from my careless cruelty, but that civility was limited only to our working relationship. Otherwise, he had adamantly refused to speak to me again outside of the protective walls of the culture of performance. Tried as I did to extend my sincere apologies in the immediate aftermath and explain that my heart had grander intentions for us, he had in turn built a barrier between us as a means to salvage his dignity. I didn't blame him, but all the while I could not forget that we had so recently been drawn to one another, and I was loath to allow our potential to pass us by. I counted it as a good sign that he did not hang up on me the second he heard my voice, that he did not decline the call as soon as he recognized my number. But it was another matter entirely to convince him to join me for the dinner. I immediately found myself ridiculously tongue-tied, and so I opted for simplicity over convoluted explanations - I approached him with the invitation as a gesture of goodwill, and nothing more. Not yet.

"I'm not a social person," he said persistently after I had repeated my appeal more than once.

I sighed and tried yet another approach, "Neither am I. But it's Thanksgiving, and I don't think either of us should spend the day alone."

"I am not an American. The day doesn't mean much to me to begin with."

"I really would like you to come, Erik. Raoul said that I could bring a guest, and you were the first person I thought of."

"Raoul whom?" he asked warily.

"De Chagny."

"That little twat that hangs around the theatre? No, thank you."

"Erik, don't be rude, he was nice enough to invite us. Please consider?"

"No. And at any rate, I don't know that I want to see you. After what happened - "

"Please?" I asked again, feeling more pathetic by the minute and adding lamely, "I know things went wrong between us. I made a mistake. Maybe we could talk about it…"

He sighed, pausing for so long that I worried that he had disconnected the call before he finally spoke again, "Alright, fine. Tell me when and where, I'll go with you."

I was actually stunned into silence, and it took me a moment to collect my thoughts before I could properly respond to him. Once I shared the requested information with him and ended the call, I felt a wave of relief that was nothing short of embarrassing. But I felt victorious all the same, mollified beyond words that we were given an opportunity to meet on better footing. It was a start, at the very least, but it was my hope that I could use the occasion as a means to get through to him, to make him understand that I never meant to hurt him as I had.

In the meantime, I only had to wait and hope that he did not change his mind.

The dinner itself was a painfully unpleasant affair. Raoul grew up to be a good man, but I truly cannot say how that happened. His family was the embodiment of every stereotype of the wealthy upper-class - snobbish, judgmental, and incredibly condescending to those they deemed unworthy of their station. It truly was pitiful. I hadn't associated with them much when Raoul and I were in school together, but I had known even then that they had never been fond of me. Seeing them now as an adult reminded me that they would likely never approve of the chosen career path of someone like me, of my simple blue collar upbringing - they were too caught up in their fine world, their youngest son far too good to even befriend the starving artist singer that had the nerve to arrive to their celebration. I took their criticisms as graciously as possible - if not demurely - sympathetic to Raoul's embarrassed apologies and concurrently angered by their rude approach to their guests. And to my dismay, they were worse with Erik, immediately eyeing him with suspicion at the sight of his mask and bristled by his obvious discomfort within their home. Erik stubbornly held his head high, and for a few brief moments initially they seemed impressed by him, noting his accent and clearly seeing the potential in him for a future business venture with the foreigner. But the moment he revealed his occupation, they backpedaled and took up a haughty approach to him as they had with me.

"I should have known you were the artist type," Raoul's father said, casually sipping his wine between his musings, "It's the mask. I don't understand that. Eccentricity has no place outside of the theatre, you know. Quite frankly, it's rude of you to have it on here, young man."

"It would be rude to be without it at the dinner table, Monsieur," Erik said flatly, earning himself a disapproving frown from the head of the household at his evasive, sarcastic response.

"Mr. Blanchard is a renowned musician," Raoul said, attempting to salvage the conversation by appealing to his father's respect for personal accomplishment, "And he's been with the Met a long time now."

"Now, do they allow you to perform with a mask on?" Raoul's mother pressed snidely, "What if the production doesn't call for it?"

"I don't perform. I compose," Erik said shortly, clearly losing his patience.

I groaned inwardly at the obvious tension in the room, feeling terribly guilty for the ordeal that Erik was going through. I had known that Raoul's parents were not the nicest people, but I had not expect them to blatantly taunt their guest during what should have been a pleasant meal - a meal whose purpose was to be thankful for even the simplicity of the company of others. It would have been comical had it not been so cold, so clearly unwelcoming. Raoul looked over to me often, silently apologizing and looking so helpless in his position. I did not want him to have to be forced to have words with his parents once the guests had taken their leave for the night, but at the same time I wished that time would start moving faster so that the event could simply be over - I wanted the entire disastrous night to be over. I was sure that Erik would never speak to me again after that dinner, that I had lost every chance of truly apologizing to him, and I wanted nothing more than to go home and wallow in self-pity.

At length, Erik excused himself to take in the air on the balcony off the living room, and in a snap-decision I immediately followed suit. I wasn't sure if he would appreciate my company, but my instincts screamed at me to go with him, to beg his pardon for our hosts' rudeness at the very least. I was sure that it was all I could do, but it was better than remaining silent. The main course had been cleared by then, but as I passed through the kitchen I managed to snatch two slivers of pumpkin pie from the countertop. Traditional, homey - and completely out of place amid the hostility. But I was sure the confections wouldn't be missed, and at any rate I wouldn't have cared if they were - I only wanted a peace offering, yet another olive branch for another naive misjudgment.

Erik was leaning against the railing when I made my way outside, appearing lost in thought and seemingly unaware of my presence. I studied him for just a moment, noting that while he could have appeared casual in his stance, there was a subtlety about his posture that told me that he was very much on his guard. Yet he was still attractive to me just the same - carrying himself with a stubborn confidence that bordered on arrogance in the wake of those rude people and their prying questions from which he had just escaped. Dressed in black save for the mask, he stood out against the city lights beyond the balcony, and to me he looked rather nice in contrast. I imagined that we might have had a nice conversation out there in another lifetime, remembering briefly the talks we used to share before it all went wrong. I missed talking to him, hearing his voice impart his knowledge and his eloquence - he was beyond intelligent, yet so approachable when he allowed himself to calm down in the presence of others. Charismatic, I believe would be an apt description for him. But to me, he had always simply been kind, and I missed that most of all - I missed the true friendship we had forged so steadily over the several months since our meeting and had lost so quickly in as many moments. I almost sighed where I stood as I reflected - I knew without a doubt then that I honestly did have deep feelings for him. I wanted more than anything to make things right between us - for the sake of our friendship, for the kind man I had known that deserved better than the fallout of my mistakes.

"Are you alright?" I asked, startling him from his own reverie.

He turned to look directly at me, "I'm fine."

"I brought dessert, if you want it," I said, suddenly feeling shy as I gestured toward a bistro table nearby. I was immensely relieved when he joined me there.

"I'm usually not one for dessert, actually. But thank you." 

"I'm sorry about Raoul's parents. They've never been the most welcoming, but I wasn't expecting them to be so blatantly rude."

He shrugged, "This isn't the first time something like this has happened, Christine. It comes with the territory. This just...unsettles people," he said, gesturing toward his mask.

"Still, you didn't deserve this. I had hoped you would enjoy your night here."

"I was surprised that you invited me," he said after a brief pause before admitting once again, "I hadn't wanted to see you. We didn't exactly part on the best terms, and we haven't spoken outside of work."

"No, we haven't," I sighed, "It was my fault. I've wanted to apologize, but - "

"Don't apologize," he said resignedly, "I know that it's bad, that my face is…" he trailed off, bitterness flashing in his eyes before he composed himself again, "I shouldn't have expected you to react any differently than anyone else. You're still young, yet. Encouraging our friendship was a mistake on my part."

"I'm not that much younger than you," I said petulantly, before recognizing my tone and continuing in a calmer fashion, "Do you really think our friendship was a mistake?"

He hesitated, "I think I read more into it than I should have."

"I don't think you did."

"Christine - "

"I shouldn't have taken off your mask, Erik," I said in a rush, needing to give voice to my thoughts before I lost my nerve, before he attempted to convince either of us not to go down this path, "I'm so sorry. I wanted you to trust me, because I had realized that there's something there between you and I. But I was too curious and inconsiderate, and I thoroughly botched any chance of that happening, didn't I?"

"It frightened you," he said, his tone devoid of accusation. Rather, he was simply stating a fact, and my heart ached at the certainty in his voice. He had lived through this scenario before.

"It...shocked me."

He rolled his eyes, "Don't downplay it."

"I was afraid, initially," I admitted, entirely ashamed of myself and hoping all the while that he could see it, that he could understand what I was having incredible difficulty putting into words, "But it was worse when you were mad at me, when you refused to speak to me. I hadn't wanted things to end so abruptly, and I never got to apologize."

"That's why you invited me here," he observed.

"Yes. And look how well that worked out," I waved my hands in a gesture of frustration, "Raoul's a good friend. I'm sure he's in there right now telling his dad off, but altogether his parents are just…I don't know."

"They're assholes," he supplied, a genuine grin forming on his features.

I laughed, "Yes, exactly."

Our shared mirth faded, and he looked at me intently before speaking again, "You have a beautiful smile, do you know that?"

I did not respond - I could only look away shyly as my breathy laughter caught me by surprise. I felt very much like a teenager then, made giddy by the sudden change in the conversation - a change that had finally led us in a positive direction. Under any other circumstances, I believe the scene could have been interpreted as absolutely romantic. It was just the two of us there, sitting closely beside one another at a small table; the dazzling and sparkling lights of New York City shone before us like a portrait, the night sky brilliantly reflecting the cityscape and hiding its stars just beyond that nearly ethereal glow. If Erik were any other man, if I had not hurt him as badly as I had with my abrupt betrayal and terrible reaction to a defect far beyond his control, he might have kissed me then. It would have been the perfect opportunity, but I knew he wouldn't. He wanted to - I could see it in his eyes, could feel it in the very air around us, that singular and significant shift in our closeness. But he was afraid, I knew, and I could hardly blame him. From what little information I had gleaned regarding his personal life, he had been hurt many times; by the time we met, he had simply been rendered unwilling to experience any more rejection in his life.

I had to be the one to take the initiative.

Steeling myself, feeling once again far younger than my twenty-five years, I leaned in close and kissed him. Our lips met quickly, fleetingly, and I froze when he gasped and pulled away almost immediately at the contact. He openly stared at me, his expression shocked and swiftly becoming guarded once again.

"I'm sorry," I said in a rush, "If you didn't want me to - "

He shook his head, "No...I did. I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting it. I didn't think you cared for me like this, even hearing you admit it tonight it difficult for me to believe."

"I do. I have for a long time, and I think it's a mutual attraction."

"You're right, it is," he said softly.

We looked at each other for a time, simply existing with one another as we allowed ourselves to comprehend what had just happened - what we had both just admitted. And then he took the first step this time, leaning in and taking my hands in his as our lips met again, now very slowly - slowly and sweetly, and in those moments I knew that I had been correct to invite him to be with me for this holiday. Something significant had happened between us, and for better or worse our circumstances had led us to that instant in which we finally came together and gained a mutual understanding regarding the dynamics of our relationship - whatever terms might come with that understanding now ours for the taking. I felt him smile against my lips, and I returned the expression in kind, sincerely grateful for the levity. We parted after a time, but he still held me close, touched his forehead to mine as he sighed contentedly - the first of that gesture I had seen of him that night, and I smiled again at all of the potential that singular moment held for us.

"I think I should have done that a long time ago," he said at length.

"I should have spoken to you more clearly about all of this," I responded as I moved slightly back in favor of looking at him more directly, "I'm sorry that it took all of this mess for this to happen. I guess I am still young in some ways."

"I won't hold it against you."

"So, can you forgive me, then? For this awful dinner? For taking off your mask and not letting you make that decision for yourself?

"Of course I forgive you, Christine. I'm sorry that I reacted the way I did. I should have let you say your piece sooner. At least you're a decent enough person to try to make amends. Your persistence is admirable."

I laughed, "Well, thank you," I said, pulling away from him and gesturing toward the untouched desserts on the table, "Here, we shouldn't waste these."

"I guess not. Do you think they'll be terribly mad at us for staying out here for so long?"

"Probably," I shrugged, "At any rate, I don't think we should expect an invitation to the Christmas dinner."

He laughed at that, the sound of his voice filling the air around us. And I wanted to hear more of it, to see him smile and to witness the goodness that he needed in his life. He deserved that, and I hoped to be the one to bring him that happiness. We had both spent so many years alone - perhaps that would change if we came together after this singular, unexpected Thanksgiving dinner. It was a welcomed thought - all at once, even the idea of the holidays no longer seemed as lonely and daunting as they had before.


End file.
